by Jeff Wheeler
Maia paced in the solar, thronged by her ladies-in-waiting and a few members of the Privy Council. She had assigned the lord mayor and her chancellor to prepare the city for attack and she waited to hear from them with keen anxiety. Suzenne looked greensick with worry. Jayn plucked chords from a lute to try to soften the mood, but it did nothing to dispel the oppressive feeling in the room.
A knight from her guard bounded up the steps and rushed into the room, face dripping with sweat. Everyone was on their feet in a moment. Maia stared at him as he hurried and knelt in front of her. She cared nothing for such formalities. She wanted only to hear his news.
“My lady, I was told to bring you word. The ships arriving bear the royal flag of Hautland. The lead ship flies a truce flag. The lord mayor has ordered the men to hold their crossbows at the ready. Three ships approached the harbor, but only one docked.”
Maia looked worriedly at Suzenne and Jayn before returning her attention to the knight. “A truce flag?”
“Yes, my lady. The chancellor is talking to the ship’s captain even now. I was sent to apprise you of the situation. Another knight will be sent soon to bring you more news.”
“Thank you,” Maia said, increasingly perplexed. She began pacing again as soon as the knight left.
“It could be a trick,” Suzenne said, hurrying to her side. “They know we are expecting an invasion. Maybe they wish to see our defenses before they attack?”
“It feels strange . . .” Maia mused, shaking her head. “But I trust Richard’s judgment. He is an Aldermaston and will not easily be fooled.”
Maia pressed her fingers against her mouth, trying to listen for the whispers of the Medium to guide her. Soon it would be nightfall, signaling the start of curfew, and hopefully the people who were still attempting to flee the city would return to their homes. However, waiting for dark to attack would be a wise tactic for the armada because it would make it more difficult for her guards to see the approach of the invading ships. She felt a surge of wariness engulf her.
More time passed, filled by Jayn’s music, and then another knight arrived in the solar, a different man than the first. With no preliminaries, he walked up to Maia and nodded in deference. He looked harried and did not kneel.
“My lady, the chancellor requests your presence immediately. I am to escort you.”
“What is going on?” Maia demanded. “What news?”
“I was not given information to relate, my lady,” he answered. “Only that the chancellor must speak with you privately. There have been discussions at the wharf between the captain of the Hautlander ship and the chancellor. I know not what was discussed, I only know I am to bring you at once to counsel with Master Syon.”
“I will go,” Maia said. She turned to Suzenne and gripped her arm. “Stay here and try to keep everyone calm. If I do not send word back to you within the hour, order the evacuation of the city.”
Suzenne blanched and then nodded dutifully.
Maia followed the knight out of the solar and easily kept pace with him down the long corridor. A detachment of Carew’s guard awaited her below, sword hilts in hand. By the time she reached the courtyard, a horse had been saddled for her and brought to the front. Captain Carew was already mounted, and his horse stood next to hers. He had a grim, distrustful look. A groom helped Maia mount, even though she did not need the assistance. It was a warm summer’s eve, and the air was warm and pleasant.
Captain Carew brought his mount up next to hers. “I do not know what the fuss is about, Lady Maia. But I do not trust Hautlanders. Be on your guard.”
“I have been to Rostick, Captain,” Maia said simply. “Believe me, my trust must be earned.”
They rode at a quick pace to the rear of the castle grounds, where the royal wharves had been built. When they arrived, she found Richard waiting on the planks by a skiff full of armed men equipped with breastplates and poleaxes. Richard looked very grave and troubled, his eyes brooding and dark as he watched her dismount and make her approach.
A few torches hissed and sputtered in iron sconces fastened to the edge of the dock. The waters from the river lapped against the dock posts. The peculiar smell of dead fish lingered in the air.
“I do not like that look,” Maia told him. “What is it, Richard?”
He gestured for her to draw in next to him, and he walked a few paces away from her escort and the other men. He gave her a pitying look that made her heart darken with apprehension.
“Tell me!” she pleaded, unable to withstand the suspense.
She could tell it was painful for him to share whatever dark truth it was he knew. His look softened to one of great compassion.
“Maia,” he said gently. “It is not the armada. They are mastons, primarily. I have tested them to be absolutely certain. On board is the chancellor of Hautland, who seeks a truce and a treaty with Comoros. They wish to defy the Naestors and help defend us against the coming invasion.”
Maia stared at him, trying to understand why his look did not match his words. “It is likely a deception, a trick,” she said, shaking her head. “But you already know this. What troubles you so?”
He bowed his head and let out a deep breath. Then he met her gaze again, his eyes full of sadness. “The Prince of Hautland is on board the vessel. I met him as well. They are very wary of our intentions and do not want their heir captured and held hostage. But I did speak with him in our language. They desire a truce with Comoros and will join their power with ours if you agree to marry the Hautlander prince.”
Maia stared at him in confusion. “I am already married, Richard,” she said.
He sighed again and then reached out and gently touched her arm. “The chancellor has told me that the Dochte Mandar have invalidated your marriage to King Gideon.”
So that was the blow he had feared delivering. It felt as if a knife had been thrust into her stomach and twisted. Her strength seemed to drain from her, and her head began to buzz like a beehive. She felt sick with despair and racked with anguish.
“How can they do that?” Maia said, shaking her head. “It was performed by a Dochte Mandar surely, but there were witnesses. It was a legal marriage. Even my grandmother admits as much.”
“Yes, I know,” Richard said sympathetically. “But by whose authority was it conducted? The Dochte Mandar, and they are not recognized in this kingdom. I am sure this is intended as a way of sowing confusion and enmity, a way of further distancing us from the Medium. Did not Corriveaux say he would strike at your heart? By the decree of the High Scribe of the Dochte Mandar, your union has been annulled. The writ claims there was no consummation of the wedding, that you were abducted and forced into the marriage against your will, and that they revoke the decree performed by the presiding Dochte Mandar in Dahomey. Legally, they can do this, Maia. You are no longer his wife.”
Maia felt spasms of pain in her heart. She wanted to weep, but the surprise was still so fresh, it was hard to even draw breath. What would Collier think when the news reached him?
“This was announced?” Maia asked wretchedly. “This knowledge is spreading through the kingdoms?”
Richard nodded. “There is more.”
“Please, Richard, I am not sure I can bear it,” she said, stifling a moan. She hated that there were so many witnesses. Though she had learned not to bury all her emotions, it still shamed her for others to see her tears. She wanted to cover her face.
“You must,” he implored, squeezing her arm.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“The Prince of Hautland speaks our language in a broken manner. He has been studying our speech for many months, and I can understand him passably well. I was given to understand this first by the chancellor, but I needed to hear it said by the prince himself. He claimed to already know you.”
Maia’s head jerked up. Memories she had long since suppressed came bubbling into her mind. There was a snowstorm. An avalanche. She and Jon Tayt were crossing the mountains into Haut
land when they were trapped by soldiers and Dochte Mandar. There had been no choice. In her mind, she could hear the noise of hunting horns, she could feel the kystrel in her hand as she summoned an avalanche. All was white and chill after the snow took her. She remembered a rider crushing through the snow. A man in a tunic. He gripped her hand and helped pull her from the drift.
Richard’s eyes had wrinkles on the edges. “The prince’s name is Oderick. He claims that he met you during your excursion into Dahomey when you crossed from Mon into Hautland. He took you on his horse to Rostick and cared for you when you were delirious and sick. He locked you in the room of an inn to bring you help, but you managed to escape out the window.”
“Yes,” Maia said. “Yes, it is true. I did not know . . . I did not know who he was. I was not . . . myself . . . at the moment. I . . . oh, Richard! What does this mean? I feel as if my heart will burst.”
A few tears trickled down the old man’s cheeks. “The prince is in love with you,” he said hoarsely. “He has thought only of you for these past many months. He began his search for you when you were taken away on a Dahomeyjan ship. Only when news of your coronation arrived did he understand that the girl who had bewitched him was now the Queen of Comoros. He is the heir of Hautland. He is a maston, Maia. He seeks to marry you by irrevocare sigil immediately and bind your kingdoms together in power. He has the strength to blunt the attack on Comoros. In truth, Gideon does not.” Richard looked at her gravely. “This is a terrible decision you must make, Maia. I cannot make it for you.”
“But he is still . . . my husband,” Maia said, thinking again about what this news would do to Collier. She had felt herself shackled by marriage at first. It was not what she had wanted. Since childhood, she had wished to be a maston and to continue the tradition of her ancestors, binding her Family to the Medium more strongly by marrying another maston. It grieved her that Collier had chosen to deliberately fail the maston test when first he took it, but she knew he hoped and strived to pass it now—not only for her, for himself. Right now he was embroiled in a fight with Paeiz, defending his kingdom. What would he do when he learned their marriage had been invalidated?
She had betrayed and abandoned him before. She could not betray him again, no matter what the cost.
“I had not expected this,” Maia said, her voice catching on her emotions. “I am bound to him, Richard, and by more than any mere decree. I love him. I do not even know who this Hautlander prince really is . . . He is a maston, you say? You tested him?”
“I did.”
Maia shook her head. “Does he know about my past? If he did, he surely would not want me.”
Richard rubbed her arm and then patted her back. “No decision needs to be made this evening, Maia. We thought these ships were part of the armada . . . the beginning of the invasion. They may be potential allies, regardless of your decision. They still await us in their ship at the trading wharf. The skiff is here to take me back there to continue the discussion. Do we allow them to come to the palace as welcome guests? Do we accept and honor their truce flag?”
“Of course we do,” Maia said with concern. “They must be made welcome. We will discuss this on the morrow. Until then, we cannot lower our guard. This may still be a feint . . . a diversion.” Just saying the word “feint” reminded her of him, of the name he used when he posed as a commoner. She needed to get word to Simon. She needed him to tell Collier that she remained true to them and to their relationship.
Richard nodded his head.
“What does the prince look like?” Maia asked, hoping there was perhaps a mistake. She dreaded meeting this nobleman from Hautland. She dreaded it with all her broken heart.
Richard nodded sagely. “He is about thirty years old. He is short—about my own height, though more trim and fit. His eyes are blue and his hair is a cropped brown, which seems a dark gray in the light. I checked his palm for the mark and he had it. He is a maston, child. He was most ardent to see you and was able to describe you perfectly, down to the dress you wore when he found you in the avalanche.”
“So you did not tell him?” Maia asked, her heart still throbbing with anguish. “He does not know what I am?”
Richard shook his head no. “That is your secret to tell,” he replied gently. “But do not believe it will dissuade him. One of the reasons a kystrel is so dangerous is how vividly it invokes feelings. Feelings create memories, and the stronger the feeling, the deeper and more life-changing the memory. He appears to be truly besotted with you, my dear. And most enthusiastic to see you again.”
That only made it worse. A kystrel had done this to his heart. Maia had no idea what Ereshkigal had said to him while she was unconscious. What promises had been made? At the very thought, Maia’s shoulder began to burn. She realized that her suffering was drawing the Myriad Ones to her. It was opening an old wound that would fester.
Maia squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the darkness awaken inside her. Small whispers susurrated in her mind, sibilant and eager.
“I am truly sorry to be the one to bring you such ill news,” Richard said. “I wish Joanna were here. She is much better at offering comfort than I am.”
“You do well enough,” Maia said with a forced smile. No matter what complications it created for her kingdom, she would not marry this Hautlander prince—not for gold or jewels or armies. More than anything else, she wanted Collier in front of her, she wanted to be able to hold him and promise him that she would not betray him again. If they were not married in the eyes of the Dochte Mandar, then they would be married by an Aldermaston in an abbey. She would give everything, including her crown, for that privilege. Her heart throbbed with anguish.
But a new feeling smoldered in her heart. She felt the yellow, fiery glare begin to crack through the crust. The hatred she felt against Corriveaux surprised her with its intensity.
And it delighted the Myriad Ones snuffling around her on the wharf.
There is a graveyard of bones and moldering armor on the cursed shores of Dahomey. I myself have trod that unhallowed ground. There is a Leering amidst the heap. It is a stark reminder that even the dead can speak to us. They can whisper from dust. They warn us not to trod on the same path that led to their fate, that created the Void. Annihilation is the ultimate mark of failure. We will leave no living person in Comoros. The ruins will be a stark reminder to the other kingdoms that supplication is the only answer. It will be a graveyard too. And then none of the other kingdoms will dare resist the authority of the Dochte Mandar. The deaths will begin one by one, a steady drip. And then they will come as a flood.
—Corriveaux Tenir, Victus of Dahomey
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Queen’s Garden
Maia walked forlornly in the Queen’s Garden in Muirwood, hidden away from the prying gazes of those who would seek her out. The sun had just risen, and her stomach growled for breakfast, but she walked amidst the rows of flowers and fruit trees, watching the buds begin to open to the light.
After the dreadful news from Richard, she had summoned Simon in the hope she could confer with him before leaving for Muirwood, but he had not come. She stopped by one of the benches where she and Collier had spent time together. A pang of wistfulness struck her heart. She wished there were a way to summon him, to draw him from the battlefields of Dahomey to join her in this quiet garden. A few birds trilled from the upper branches, their tiny bodies and fluttering wings the only noise, and the perfume from the flowers lifted her spirits. She made a mental note to thank the old gardener Thewliss for his patient care of this secret place. A feeling of dread waited beyond these walls, as she knew she would need to return to the city to face her would-be suitor. And she would need to do so with a calm mind and a sturdy heart.
The familiar squeaking of wheels on axles sounded from beyond the wall, and Maia walked over to the Leering that protected the door and invoked it. After opening it, she saw Thewliss tugging the cart and greeted him with a smile. But over his shoulder,
Maia saw an approaching figure—Suzenne, her shoulders swathed in a shawl, a look of determination and worry on her face. Her friend would not have sought her out here unless something important had happened, and Maia felt a swell of panic as she left the arch of the garden door and met her friend on the lawn.
“What has happened?” Maia said, reaching out and seizing her friend’s arm.
Suzenne looked stricken. She blinked rapidly, clearly trying to calm herself before speaking. “The chancellor sent me right away. Maia,” she shook her head. “Simon was murdered.”
A pit of pain opened in Maia’s stomach. “Simon Fox?”
“Yes,” Suzenne said in a shaky voice. “He was discovered before dawn. There was no sign of a struggle. He was stabbed in the back, crippled, and then left to bleed to death from a cut on his throat.” She covered her mouth, her face growing white.
Maia’s heart hammered in her chest and dizziness overtook her body as she imagined the scene. “Sweet Idumea.”
Suzenne shook her head. “The coroner is examining the body for details, but Richard sent me right away to warn you. Why would the kishion do this? He has only acted in support of you . . . why kill someone who was helping you? I do not understand it.”
Maia drew in a shuddering breath. “It may not have been him.”
“What? How can you doubt it?”
“Because a ship from Hautland just arrived,” Maia said. “The timing, Suzenne. The chancellor of Hautland may have brought another kishion to Comoros unwittingly. The Victus would not want to leave a kishion loose to betray them.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to quell the revulsion. “Poor Simon,” she whispered. “Corriveaux is behind this, I have no doubt of that. He is preparing his invasion. The delegation . . . the prince . . . this is all a ruse. He will attack soon, and by killing Simon, he has disrupted our ability to get news. I must go back to the castle at once.” Maia started for the abbey, no longer hungry.
